It's funny how some things just don't change. For example, here's a quote from John Adams of Founding Fathers fame. It's taken from a letter he wrote to his wife, Abigail after he attended a Mass at St. Mary's Catholic Church in Philadelphia with George Washington on October 9, 1774:
This afternoon, led by Curiosity and good Company I strolled away to Mother Church, or rather Grandmother Church, I mean the Romish Chapel. Heard a good, short, moral Essay upon the Duty of Parents to their Children, founded in justice and Charity, to take care of their Interests temporal and spiritual. This afternoon's entertainment was to me most awful and affecting. The poor wretches fingering their beads, chanting Latin, not a word of which they understood, their Pater Nosters and Ave Marias. Their holy water--their crossing themselves perpetually--their bowing to the name of Jesus wherever they hear it--their bowings, and kneelings, and genuflections before the altar. The dress of the priest was rich with lace--his pulpit was velvet and gold. The altar piece was very rich--little images and crucifixes about--wax candles lighted up. But how shall I describe the picture of our Saviour in a frame of marble over the altar, at full length, upon the cross in the agonies, and the blood dropping and streaming from his wounds.
The music consisting of an organ, and a Choir of singers, went all the afternoon, excepting sermon Time, and the Assembly chanted--most sweetly and exquisitely. Here is everything which can lay hold of the eye, ear, and imagination. Everything which can charm and bewitch the simple and the ignorant. I wonder how Luther ever broke the spell.
So, the things that don't change?
First, the Mass. The Mass doesn't change. Here we have an eye witness account of a Mass from 1774. And every single detail is what we'd see at Mass today, excepting (possibly) some of the Latin. The crucifixes are still there. So are the candles. And the gold and the marble. The altar is still front and center and the images of Christ are just as bloody. The beads are still there, the "Pater Nosters" (The Our Fathers) and the "Ave Marias" (The Hail Mary's) are still quietly mumbled by reverent (and not always so reverent) worshippers. Holy water, the sign of the cross, the bowing and the genuflections . . . all still there. The Mass hasn't changed.
The second thing that hasn't changed since the letter was written? A latent distrust, dislike, disapproval, misunderstanding and overall prejudice against all things Catholic. Adam's mood and attitude was typical of the Colonists at that time period. And sadly, it's quite representative of the attitudes today.
Now, don't get me wrong: I'm a big John Adam's fan and don't fault him (necessarily) for maintaining and espousing the attitude of the day. I understand that the colonies at that point in time were decidedly unfriendly to the Catholic faith and he was, as are we all, a product of his times.
Still, I wonder that he didn't realize his inability to declare, after attending just this one Mass, that the people chanting and praying in Latin understood "not a word"? I wonder at the intellectual elitism by which he reduced people with different thoughts and traditions than him to "poor wretches" who are easily charmed and bewitched--the "simple and the ignorant". I wonder at his inability to put words to the sight of the Savior doing the work of saving. He sees Jesus "in the agonies", not cleaned up with flowing hair and winning smile after the resurrection, and he simply says "how shall I describe [Him]?"
All in all, Adam's words reflect an anti-Catholicism that's all too common: complaints that are lodged based largely upon misunderstandings, hasty judgments, and a sense of superiority--both religious and intellectual. And yet, it's difficult to read his letter without picking up on some threads of thought that suggest that while he is disposed to hate the Mass . . . he still finds parts of it intriguing, compelling, "bewitching". He writes of a beauty in the chant that's "sweet" and "exquisite".
He writes that everything about the Mass appeals to every part of who we are as people: "Here is everything which can lay hold of the eye, ear, and imagination." And he's right: In the Mass, our eyes take in the beauty and majesty, the cross, and the One on the cross. Our ears soak up the chants, the bells and the high language and we're aware that we are not just "anywhere"--we are in a Holy and otherworldy place. Our sense of smell picks up on the incense. Our sense of touch is brought into worship when we dip our fingers in holy water and cross ourselves, remembering our baptism, the Trinity, and the miracle of forgiven sins. And finally, at the pinnacle of the Mass, we taste and eat the Body and Blood of the Lord in Holy Communion.
All of these sights and sounds, smells and bells, work together to stir our imagination and conjure the deep thoughts of our souls. Adam's doesn't embrace it fully--in fact, he basically tries to poke at it gently from a very long ways away--but he still sees that it's there: a draw, a beauty.
I found the same things in my journey to the Catholic Church. I began two years ago with the sentiment Adams seems to convey in the letter: I pitied Catholics for their empty, shallow and self-reliant faith. I despised the beads, the holy water, the vestments, the gold, the marble. I saw all of these as fetters holding them back from true faith. But still, alongside the dislike--the dislike I knew I should feel--I found something else beginning to grow: a growing appreciation of the reverence. Of the Altar. Of the Crucifixes. Of the Genuflecting and the bowing and the silence. Of the Holy Water and the candles and even, finally, an appreciation of the beads and the statues and the icons.
I slowly began to see and learn that not one of these items or practices is without symbolic meaning--deep, ancient and rich. And when I dug beyond appearances and past prejudices and actually explored that meaning, I found--where I least expected to find Him--Christ.
We genuflect, because Christ is truly, physically here, at every Mass. We cross ourselves with Holy Water and pause because we're recalling our baptism and the washing of our sins. The altar is where the once-for-all sacrifice of Christ is re-presented. The crucifix reminds us of the Price--the Price God was willing to pay (and did pay) to redeem the entire world. And above all, before all, at the center of all, is Our Lord in the Eucharist, Body and Blood, Soul and Divinity. The same as He was 230+ years ago when Adams strolled into a Catholic Church with George Washington. And the same as He was roughly 2000 years ago when spoke to His apostles on the night before His passion and said "This is my body..."
Thank God some things never change....
This was also Quted on www.ewtn.com/mass to day
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